All Fired Up
by Moving Mountains
Summary: Derek stays late at the BAU one night to finish some paperwork. When he goes to Hotch's office to give in his files he makes a startling discovery regarding one of his friends, and does his best to help rectify the situation. But has he done enough?


_Hello all. This is my second Criminal Minds one-shot which I was inspired to write whilst listening to The Saturdays song of the same title. I love Prentiss/Morgan moments in CM and thought that a friendship fic involving the two characters would be interesting to write. And indeed, it was! I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope you enjoy reading it too :) Please feel free to review afterwards!_

_Disclaimer: Yeah, Criminal Minds isn't mine..._

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><p>It was late. You didn't need to be a skilled profiler like Derek Morgan to know that no one should be in the BAU offices this late after the case they'd just helped the Boston Police Department with; a particularly difficult case involving a group of Unsubs who'd been blitz attacking places of worship and killing innocent worshippers in the process. Outside, the once blue sky had turned dark and the street lights shone on the nearly-deserted Quantico roads, lighting the way for the Virginia citizens; workers starting their night shifts; couples returning from expensive restaurant dinners; friends out partying away their fatigue at the end of the working week. It was Friday night, the night Derek normally took a gorgeous, young woman out to a cocktail bar before going back to his place for coffee and some light-hearted fun. Not sex though. Despite the 'dawg' reputation some of his teammates had painted of him, he was in fact a hopeless romantic who had grown up being taught how to respect women. After all, he'd seen some of the players his sisters had dated when they were younger and that had made me secretly promise himself to never make a woman cry the way he'd heard his sisters sob after they'd found out their boyfriends had been cheating.<p>

However, on this Friday night; a cool, crisp September one; he was still sitting at his desk finishing off his final report of what had happened during the case in Boston. He'd been the agent to shoot three of the five Unsubs; Rossi having shot the other two; and consequently he had more routine paperwork to complete before he could leave for the night. As tedious as it was, and as much as he wanted to head to his local bar for a beer (with or without female companionship), he knew it had to be done before he could be given his gun back, as was standard procedure in the BAU offices. The men and women down in the weapon reclaims department all knew him on first name terms as he was often the one who fired the first shot. What could he say? It was his job, and he was damn good at it. If filling in a few forms meant that he could save another child, teenager or adult from a horrific, life-altering experience or death then he would happily sign the forms until he got carpal tunnel.

Sighing as he signed his final form, he sat back further into his desk chair and stretched his arms, providing relief to his aching muscles that had been tensing, hunched over the papers for the last few hours or so. Looking around the office, he couldn't help but notice how cold it felt without the people he'd grown to love and respect there around him. Everyone else on the team had left at nine o'clock to enjoy their weekends; Hotch and JJ to spend time with their beloved sons; Rossi to enjoy fishing with some old friends from his college days; Garcia to go shopping for quirky accessories to match her even quirkier attire; Reid to travel a hundred miles to a Sci-Fi convention and Prentiss to... Well, Emily hadn't mentioned her plans for the weekend on the plane ride back to Quantico. Whatever she had planned, Morgan thought it would involve a good bottle of malt whisky (her preferred beverage) and some television re-runs.

Wanting to start his weekend before the clock on the adjacent wall ticked over to midnight, officiating Saturday, he sorted out his desk and gathered his small pile of paperwork ready to put on Hotch's desk ready for him to review before turning them in to the Director, Opening his top drawer, he rooted around beneath his stationary, papers, and small toys from Garcia for the spare key to his boss' office. Since Haley's death, Hotch didn't stay as late as he used to at the BAU because he wanted to spend more time with Jack. However, knowing that almost all his team didn't have children and were committed enough to clock extra hours at work, he'd provided each of them with a key to his office so they could file their reports. Morgan knew that none of the other team's had a key to their boss' office, which made him feel even more privileged that Hotch trusted not only him, but the others also, with a key to his personal space. After all, it wasn't like Hotch had anything incriminating lurking in his desk. Morgan smirked at the thought of finding something scandalous, like handcuffs or naked photographs, in his drawers as he made his way from the bull-pen and up the stairs to Hotch's office.

He unlocked the door and turned on the light, glancing around at the tidiest room on the whole floor other than Rossi's. He walked over to the desk and went to put his papers down upon the mahogany wood when his eyes averted to the only other document on the desk that looked completely out of place in comparison to the order of the surface. Stuck onto the cover on the manila folder was a post-it note; written on it in handwriting he recognised well were two words, 'I'm sorry'. Frowning, he went against his better judgement and pulled back the cover of the manila folder. As he did, Morgan wished he could take back his actions as he read the title of the forms it housed, 'Official Statement of Resignation – H1T1BAUQNTO'. Resignation papers.

Morgan let the cover of the manila folder gently fall back into place, covering the words he'd just read. Why the hell was Emily Prentiss resigning? He tried to stop himself pacing a hole through the office carpet as the shock settled in. Emily was resigning. One of his best friends, his partner in the field, the breath of fresh air he joked around with on a daily basis was leaving the BAU. He wanted to rip the papers to shreds; throw them in a nearby bin before Hotch could see them; do anything to them just so that none of it would be true. Instead, he resorted to merely picking up the folder angrily and stormed out of Hotch's office, nearly forgetting to lock the door again and hide the key away in his desk drawer. There was no way in hell Prentiss was just gonna up and leave the team like this without any explanation, not if he had anything to say about it. He grabbed his bags and jacket and ran to the doorway which led to the stairs, deciding that the elevator would take too much time. He was soon in the basement car park of the FBI offices, wasting no time in slamming his car door shut before starting the ignition and speeding out onto the streets, the manila folder lying haphazardly in the back seat with a crumpled fist mark permanently bent into it.

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><p>Emily braced herself as she downed what felt like her twentieth shot of whisky, the good stuff she usually reserved for special occasions, like when her Mother announced she was extending her stay in Italy. The warm liquid burned her throat, a burn she welcomed and in some ways deserved. She'd finally built up the courage to leave her resignation papers on Hotch's desk, after two weeks of sleepless nights staring at them. It was a hard feat, much harder than the first time she resigned from the BAU. Then, she'd only known the team for just over six months and had no other choice in the matter, other than to sing to Strauss like a canary and get Hotch fired. She mentally thanked Penelope everyday for delaying her resignation in the FBI computer system because otherwise she would never have got to know her team the way she did now. Unfortunately, now they were not just a team, but a family, it made her second attempt at resigning that much harder, hence why she was currently drowning her sorrows with a fifty dollar bottle of the best Irish whisky.<p>

She was the penultimate one to leave the office earlier that night. Reid, Penelope and JJ had all left pretty swiftly after landing back in Quantico. Rossi had left next, excited about his fishing trip. That left herself, Hotch and Morgan. She couldn't face giving Hotch her papers by hand so she cowardly waited until he announced he was calling it a night before letting herself into his office with the spare key she'd been given and leaving the papers on his desk. She'd quickly written on a post-it note that she was sorry, which she was, and left his office. Putting on a friendly facade, she waved goodbye to Morgan and rode the elevator down to her car, which she quickly drove home. Her facade had broken the moment she'd opened her front door but because of her government upbringing, she only let one tear slide down her pale cheek before grabbing the alcohol and shot glass from one of her kitchen cupboards. Ten shots later, here she was, sitting on a stool at her breakfast counter with expertly maintained balance, trying to see a light at the end of the tunnel through the drunken haze.

Her intercom ringing bought her out of her daydream. She stumbled over to the phone next to the front door, lifting it out of the holster and saying 'hello' to whoever happened to be on the over end of the line, outside her apartment building. She wasn't expecting company and assumed it would be one of the other tenants who occasionally locked themselves out. Emily was shocked to hear his voice on the other line demanding that she let him in. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the button beneath the receiver, granting him access into the building. She could tell from the anger in his voice that he hadn't tried to disguise that she wasn't going to enjoy the next hour or two. She listened to his heavy footsteps on the stairs, and thanked God that she lived on the sixth floor, as it gave her time to try and steady her breathing and calm her suddenly rapid heartbeat. It wasn't enough time, however, because she could still hear her heartbeat pulse in her ears when he knocked on the door.

Emily took one last breath, strode over to the door and opened it to find Derek standing on the other side of the threshold, his stance dominating, a familiar manila folder held tightly in his hand. He didn't wait for her permission before he walked slowly past her into the apartment. He looked at the half-full bottle of whisky and discarded shot glass with her lipstick marks on the rim of it. Emily wasn't surprised when he quickly poured himself a shot and downed it. He hadn't looked at her since he'd walked in, and something told her she would have to be the first one to speak lest he tear her a new one.

Over the years she'd been a member of the BAU, Morgan had been one of her closest friends. Admittedly, it was mainly in a professional capacity, but she considered him a friend nonetheless, and their friendship had grown stronger as each case passed by. She still remembered one of their first conversations about Kurt Vonnegut and how delighted she'd felt to find someone who appreciated 'Slaughterhouse-Five' as much as she did. Ever since that day, she couldn't think of one case where he hadn't made her smile. They were always joking around, much to Hotch's chagrin, but it was only light-hearted banter so he often let it slide because he knew the two agents would get down to work at the drop of a pin. It was the reason Hotch had paired them up so often on cases, because everyone knew how well they worked together in the field. Morgan always had her back, something she reciprocated. Even when Matthew Benton sadly passed and she was feeling shitty, he was there despite being sceptical about whether or not they even had a killer to profile. The handsome, smiley, charming man she had a massive amount of respect for looked almost foreign to her now as he sat himself down on her brown, leather sofa and threw the manila folder onto her coffee table in front of him. Emily sat down next to him, avoiding the intense gaze she could feel from him.

"When were you gonna tell me?"

Those were not the first words she'd expected from him, and she thought he would shout from the way he had come into her abode. So it surprised her when his voice came out sounding perfectly calm, if not a little hurt.

"Or, were you not planning to? Were you just gonna think that Hotch would let you go with no questions? Were you even gonna turn up on Monday morning, or just leave it to Boss Man to explain!"

There it was; the shouting. Anyone who knew Morgan could describe him in three simple words; passionate, protective, and temperamental. All three adjectives often interlinked and affected his mood, like in this situation.

"Why were you even looking at Hotch's files anyway?" Emily asked, finally looking up at Derek and trying her hardest not to be off put by the betrayal in his eyes.

"Cut the bullshit Prentiss!" he shouted, picking up the file and shaking it in her face. "You've been a member of this team for five years! Why the hell are you resigning now?"

"Why don't you just read the form and find out for yourself?" she said back, her voice raised, but not as much as his. She grabbed his arm to stop him from waving the file in her face, finding herself beginning to feel angry also, both with him and herself. The alcohol permeating into her blood stream wasn't helping matters. Morgan threw the file at her, but her slowed reflexes made her drop it. She made no move to pick it up from the floor by her bare feet.

"And let you get away with not giving me an explanation? Not a chance Emily." He almost sounded defeated as the sentence was met by silence from her. He sighed and ran his hands over his bald head, attempting to ease the headache he could feel building. "What's wrong? Why are you leaving?"

"I just don't think I can do this anymore, Derek."

"Do what?"

Emily didn't answer, instead choosing that precise moment to further avoid confronting her demons in favour of liquid relief. She swayed slightly on her feet as she stood from the sofa and went to retrieve the whisky bottle from the kitchen counter. Before she could even unscrew it, Morgan took it from her hand.

"I think you've had enough," he said sternly, wiping a tear from her cheek that she hadn't even noticed had fallen. When had she started crying? Morgan gently pulled on her arm and lead her back to the sofa where he sat down next to her once again. This time, when he looked at her, he couldn't bring himself to feel angry. He was past angry now as he thought of his friend drinking more than a fair share to rid her thoughts of whatever was bothering her. It saddened him that the woman who was so strong and independent at work seemed so lost and troubled in her own home; and for the first time since the Benton case, he felt like he was seeing the real Emily Prentiss; the one who didn't feel the need to compartmentalise after a difficult case; the one who didn't mask her emotions behind a concrete facade as she had been raised to do; but instead the one who clearly needed someone to talk to, not someone shouting at her about her decisions that he still didn't understand the reasoning behind. Morgan suddenly felt bad about storming in here and shouting at her, but it was his first instinct to be angry. It had stemmed from when he was constantly abused by Carl Beauford and he took his aggression out on the football players on the opposing team. He wasn't proud of his temperamental attitude but he knew that without it he wouldn't be where he was today; profiling serial killers, paedophiles, murderers, and bringing them to justice.

Now, all he felt as he looked at the woman next to him was concern. "I'm sorry I shouted at you. I just don't understand why you wouldn't tell me that you were planning on resigning. I mean, you seemed fine throughout this case and the journey home. I just don't get why you'd suddenly want to leave." He grabbed one of Emily's hands when she went to pick her fingernails, a habit she went back to whenever she was in a stressful situation. "You're never gonna grow nails if you keep chewing the beds off them." He smiled, trying to redeem himself by going back to light-hearted humour. Emily smiled back, leaving her hand in Derek's possession. But the smile soon vanished when she began her explanation, knowing that he would not leave her apartment until he got one.

"I just don't think I can do the job anymore," she murmured, her eyes downcast as she admitted her self-doubt for the first time out loud. "I go to bed thinking about serial killers, and I wake up in the middle of the night screaming from nightmares about serial killers. I go to work and profile serial killers and interview devastated families and watch them mourn their loved ones. It's all becoming too much for me to handle, and I can't take it anymore!" She felt his hand squeeze hers.

"How long have you been feeling like this?"

"Two weeks, on and off."

"That's all? You're gonna make a decision this big when you've only been feeling shit for a couple of weeks!" It was meant to be a question, but it came out as an accusation, a pretty accurate one at that.

"Two weeks is a long time Morgan." she argued.

"Not long enough!" he counteracted, delaying her argument from having an validity. "You think you're the only one who feels that way?" he said, not waiting for an answer to his rhetorical question. "You think you're the only one on the team who has nightmares and doubts? Hotch lost his wife, Emily, _his family_ because of the job. But he didn't quit even when she died! JJ has a son, and we both know that when we deal with a case involving children, she gets more emotional, but she turns that negative emotion into determination. Penelope got shot because she works at the FBI. You reckon she goes to bed every night dreaming of all the good in the world or of a gun being pointed at her face? Hell, Rossi lets twenty year old cases get to him when he knows there's nothing more he could have possibly done to catch the killers. And Reid, he's been held hostage twice, been poisoned by anthrax and battled drug addiction!"

"Okay, I get it Morgan! We've all handled shit on the job! And yeah, some of them have had it a lot worse than me and I'm being a selfish bitch by resigning instead of staying strong like the rest of you! If that's all you've got to say then you might as well fucking leave now, because I don't need to hear it from you." She tried to storm off, to rid herself of the grip of his hand but he held strong and pulled her back down.

"I'm not saying that you're a selfish bitch, I'm saying that you're not alone. Think about everything you've gone through! You've been nearly knocked unconscious with a 2x4; held hostage and beaten by Cyrus; had one of your oldest friends die; and been hit by a truck for God's sake! And yet you came out of all of those situations fighting. You want to know why?" he asked, putting two fingers under her chin and turning her head so it was facing him. "Because that's what you do. You fight. You put your pain and feelings aside so you can get the bad guy, and because you're damn good at your job. You're a good person Emily, and a good agent and a good friend to all of us. I promise you that whatever doubts you're having about your ability to do your job will pass if you let someone know how you feel. You compartmentalise everything because it hurts, and I get that probably better than anyone else on the team, but Hotch, Reid, Garcia, Rossi, JJ and I would rather listen to your problems for an hour and advise you rather than lose you forever because you felt too damn proud and stubborn to let other people help you."

Derek watched as her dark brown orbs filled with tears, but they didn't fall like they had before. Instead, Emily sniffed and leaned forward, her forehead resting on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and held her, showing her that he would be there for her for as long as it took for her to be rid of her demons. He rubbed a hand up and down her back in comfort, as she murmured something against him. Unfortunately, it was muffled because she was speaking into his shoulder. He let Emily go so she could sit back up and regain her composure.

"Do you have nightmares?"

"You know I do. Its expected with what we see every day. It should be written in the job description."

"How do you handle it?"

He took a moment to think of his answer to her question. "I remind myself that I'm having nightmares because I care. I care because I'm human, and that means putting up with the shit that daily life throws at us. But for every sleepless night, there is one less scumbag walking the streets hurting innocent people, and that's good enough for me," he stated, looking at her solemnly. "I also drink whisky, but not the kinda stuff you can afford!" he laughed, Emily laughing along with him. She leaned forward again, hugging him lightly. "I have several more bottles in the cupboard that I bought when I was in Ireland. Whisky fresh from the brewery tastes better than the crap on the supermarket shelves!"she murmured into his ear.

Both profilers laughed, finally feeling the earlier tension ease from the room. "Thank you Derek, for coming over here. I'm sure you had better things to do on a Friday night."

"I didn't have any plans, and even if I did I'd be here in a heartbeat. You know that, Princess," he smiled, lightly punching her on the shoulder in a friendly gesture. He knelt down to pick up the discarded file from the floor, handing it to her. "I assume that Hotch hasn't seen this yet, and he doesn't have to. All I'm asking is that you think about your decision over the weekend before going to Hotch. I promise to support you, a hundred percent, no matter what your decision is." But, he knew deep down that if she did choose to leave the BAU that things would never be the same in the office. He'd have no one to laugh with, or talk about Vonnegut with, or tease about sexual partners with. He never realised until he nearly lost her just how much Emily Prentiss meant to him. He could tell from her facial expression that she didn't believe a word about him supporting her if she made the decision he didn't want her to make. However, she didn't call him out on it.

"Ok, I'll think about it."

"Good." That's all he wanted. "Anything else you need? You gonna be okay on your own?"

"I'm a big girl Derek, I'm sure I can look after myself."

"Don't I know it," he teased, standing up from the sofa, Emily following his lead as he crossed the living room towards the front door. "But if you need to talk, about anything, you know where to find me."

She nodded, smiling up at him as she opened the door. She watched as he walked into the communal hallway and down the stairs, but before he vanished out of her sight completely he flashed her one of his most charming smiles that could melt any girl's heart. "Have a good weekend, Princess."

"You too," she smiled, waving goodbye. She didn't close her front door until she heard the click of the door downstairs, signalling that he truly had left the apartment building. Sighing, she waited a few more moments before shutting the door and locking it, putting the chain across for added security. Turning around, she faced her now empty apartment that suddenly seemed lonelier now Derek had left. All she had for company was her whisky and the manila folder that haunted her, the one she'd finally got rid of just to have shoved back in her thoughts. She disregarded both items, bathing them in shadowed darkness as she turned off the light, walked out of the living area in favour of her bedroom, and lay down fully-clothed on her bed. She had a lot of thinking to do, and luckily she had the whole weekend to do it.

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><p>It was Monday morning, and Derek couldn't help but feel uneasy as he rode the elevator up to the sixth floor so he could begin his working day. He hadn't spoken to Emily since that Friday nightearly Saturday morning, and he was worried that he would enter the office to find Hotch solemnly standing there ready to deliver the message that the team had lost another agent, just like they had with Elle and Gideon. It would hurt them all, but it would him the most, knowing he could have done more to stop it. But, he tried to convince himself as the elevator made its assent up the FBI levels that there was no point in worrying until he was sure there was something to worry about.

The metal doors opened, and the sight of the glass doors adorned with the translucent FBI emblem greeted him. He walked through them, mentally checking off his list of friends as he walked past them to his desk. Reid and Garcia were by the coffee machine, gossiping about their weekends and readying themselves for the day ahead by filling up on caffeine; JJ was in her office, as he could hear her on the phone and see her silhouette through the blinds on her window; Rossi too was in his office, looking at a case file. He made it to his desk but he wasn't paying attention to it, instead focusing on the desk where his female friend sat. It was empty at present, but he knew she had been there because her bag was underneath where he legs should have been. Fearing the worst, he looked up to Hotch's office and tried to suppress his concern and anger at what he saw. The blinds were closed but the lights were on. She was in there, resigning.

He sat down heavily in his chair, trying his best to focus on the file in front of him. But it was getting more and more difficult to concentrate as each minute ticked by. Emily had been in there twenty minutes now, maybe longer depending on how long she'd been with Hotch before he arrived. He could feel Reid shooting him worried looks every now and again when he was caught staring up at Hotch's closed office door. He just looked back at Reid with an emotionless face and looked back down at the file in his hands.

Ten minutes later, Hotch's door opened and he saw the two agents who had been talking inside leave the small room. Hotch walked to Rossi's office and closed the door behind him, while Emily returned to the bull-pen and sat down at her desk, reaching underneath the wood to retrieve her bag. Derek looked at her sadly before running out of the office. He was pissed off at himself. He should have shouted at her more, or guilt tripped her into staying. But no, he'd failed her. He'd failed his partner and now she was quitting her job because she felt inadequate. Derek wanted nothing more than to slap some sense into her, but he was afraid that if he saw her he would physically lash out and do something he'd regret.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned around to see her standing there, smiling with her hands behind her back. Confused, he watched as she pulled a bottle of the Irish Malt Whisky out from behind her petite back and hold it in front of him.

"This is to say thank you," Emily smiled, giving the bottle to Derek, who looked at it anxiously as he rolled it around in his hands, examining the label.

"Someone from Boston filed a complaint about me to the PD. Hotch and I were just discussing it and he managed to smooth it over," she explained when she saw the confusion on his face. If he was listening to her though, he didn't show it. Instead he focused his attention on the post-it note which was stuck to the stem of the bottle; it displayed four words written in delicate, cursive handwriting, 'Thank you for everything'.

"Thank you for what?"

"Convincing me to stay."

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><p><em>There you have it folks. I hope it satisfied your PrentissMorgan appetites! I've said this to some people on Twitter, but I don't ship couples in my stories because I prefer writing stories that contain strong friendship scenes. In the show the characters would never get romantically involved so I don't see why I should write romantic stories. But yeah, I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Please review if you wish! Much love... H x_


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